


Strange

by dolores85



Category: Doctor Strange (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Benedict Cumberbatch as Strange, Comfort, F/M, First Time, Marvel Universe, Romance, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-05 04:21:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10297400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dolores85/pseuds/dolores85
Summary: Dr. Layla Laurent is a former Army medic who works in the civilian world as an ER doctor. She has demons that still cripple her everyday. When she is tasked with a last minute surgery, the last thing she expects is to meet him. She didn't even know who he was. She wanted to though. He was mysterious and arrogant. Cocky and humble all at once. He was Strange. Sometimes broken things can be mended if one is willing to try.





	

Layla rubbed her neck. She was exhausted. She had just pulled two double shifts in the ER at Mercy General and she could almost hallucinate. She had treated everything from the flu (fuck the fluctuating weather and the incessant requests for antibiotics to "treat" a goddamned viral infection) to broken bones to a few ODs and had assisted in the birth of a brand new baby girl. Yup. She had fulfilled her civic duty and now she needed R&R something fierce. 

"Hey Dr. Laurent, do you think you could squeeze in one more patient before you head out? He was in a car wreck and needs surgery stat." Nurse Allison was one of Layla's favorites. She knew that if Allison was asking her then it was serious. 

"Yeah where is he?" She asked cracking her knuckles and back. Surgery always looked so cool in movies until you had to stand there for hours on end and hope your patient lives after all the time you put into keeping their heart and brain going.

"He's en route. ETA 10 mins." 

She was already reviewing the chart that had been sent to her on the MediPad. Thank God for technology. Sign a deal with Apple and get top of the line Mac Books, iPads, iPhones and the encrypted software that allows doctors around the world to view different files using their fingerprint. Male, estimated late thirties. Shit. The bones in his hands were decimated. Left occipital was fractured and head trauma. Heavy bruising across the torso suggests that he at least had his seatbelt on. Setting the Pad down she headed towards the doctor lounge to grab some espresso. This was going to be an all-nighter for sure. Checking her Apple Watch, she noticed it was 02:00. Fuck. All-morninger. Chugging her quick shot of the dark, she started a light jog down to surgery. She was smart to wear her thermals. Cold as shit down here. Scrubbing up, she heard the double doors electronically open and the gurney wheel in. Paramedics had done a good job of securing the neck from what she could see. Which was limited thanks to her lack of height (like 5' 2" on a good day) and their local monster nurse, Ian. Dude had to be 6' 6". He was changing out the empty bag of saline as the anesthesiologist was preparing his cocktail. Another door behind her whooshed open and Dr. John came in. She didn't particularly like the old guy but he was good. She was glad she was assisting him. Dr. Adam T. John was in his late fifties, graying and had striking blue eyes. The kind that saw through you and micromanaged all your inadequacies as you tried your best not to screw up. The guy was a wizard. He had been in the ER for almost 20 years. She had the privilege of training under him when she started 7 years ago, but he was a prickly bastard then and even more so now. 

Suiting up, so to speak, they entered the surgical room. The bright lights burning her eyes a little thanks to sleep deprivation and the industrial cleaner. Peachy. Her adrenaline was started to pump through her veins as she approached the operating table. The anesthetic was hooked up and flowing and the heart monitor beat away. BP was 140/95. Not bad. 78 beats/min. She finally looked over her patient as Dr. John moved past her to the other side of him. 

"Good God." Dr. John said. She was surprised. The patient didn't look that worse for wear, surely it wasn't that bad-

"That's Stephen Strange." She looked over at him. Name rang a bell but she couldn't remember where. "He works in neurology. He's one of our top surgeons." He explained. Ding. Light clicked on. Looking over his fractured face she moved on down to his pulverized hands.

"Was one of our top surgeons." She said. "Look at his hands. I counted almost 23 broken bones in the right and 18 in the left. We'll be lucky if he can write his own name again." She clicked her tongue. It was a shame. She couldn't imagine not being able to do her job anymore. Sure she was despising it right now, but after a few days off she was always chomping at the bit to come back. She needed the rush. She was always on call. Always. She had been put on leave a few times for not taking a day off for months. She literally lived for her work. 

"Let's get to work. We may be able to salvage some nerves and tendons if we act soon." Dr. John's voice snapped her out of her reverie. He was right. Every moment was precious right now. She cracked her neck by rolling her head from side to side. 

"Scalpel." She said.

\--------------------------

8 long hours later, Layla was stripping her dressing off. They had worked tirelessly on him. So many pins had been placed in his hands it made him look like a holiday ham. She knew that despite their best efforts, he would never practice as a neurosurgeon again. The damage was too great. The nerves they encountered were not cleanly severed. They had been torn and stretched to their limit. His hands would shake and the strength in them was diminished. Washing her hands again under the hot water she watched them wheel Dr. Strange out of the room and upstairs to his hospital room. She could feel the skin cracking around her thumb again. One of the downsides to being in the medical field was constantly washing your hands and latex or nitrile gloves on them a lot. Ruined the nature oils your skin produces and causing serious eczema and cracking. One of the other downsides was have no life or consistent plans. 

Walking back upstairs she went back to the nurses' station where Allison was sitting, typing away like a mad woman. She grabbed the Pad again and looked over Strange's chart. She went further in to see he had no emergency contacts listed. 

"Hey you should get out of here before they call you in again." Allison said, suddenly looking at her. 

"Aren't you like super past your shift too?" She asked smiling.

"Yeah. I am about to head out, actually. I'm starving. I've been picking at those donuts over there but they are ruining my diet." She said frowning and glaring at said donuts.

"Well I'm starved too. Wanna get some brunch? It's on me." Layla said. Allison was probably the closest thing she had to a friend. 

"That sounds great. Free food always tastes better, too. I vote Bob Evans. I would literally kick a kitten for some Cinnamon Pancakes." Allison said, standing and grabbing her coat. 

"Eat some for me, bitches. I am taking over for the rest of the afternoon until Kim gets here later." Ian's voice was deep and booming. The giant was working on some paperwork on the edge of the desk. Ian would make any girl swoon. He was charming, had dimples and obviously was stacked. Too bad for the ladies though, because he preferred the same sex. His boyfriend, Levi, was just as awesomely handsome as he was and they were set to be married in the spring. Allison laughed and blew him a kiss.

"I am gonna eat those pancakes and not regret even a single bite." Layla laughed at them and grabbed her coat. Freakin' freezing out the past few weeks. Snagging her keys, phone and wallet from under the station, they headed out to Bob's for a bite. Allison drove. Layla usually didn't drive to work. Hell she didn't even have insurance on her car anymore. She usually took the train or a taxi. She didn't see the point. It was more efficient to travel with the masses. No need to pump more shit into the atmosphere. Parking and walking into the restaurant they chatted lightly about stuff going on at work and their personal lives. With Layla, there wasn't much to tell. Her personal life was work. Allison, however, was married and had a little boy, James. She called him Jim a lot. It was her affectionate name for him. The whole family thing brought her patient to the forefront in her mind again. She couldn't seem to keep her thoughts from him. He didn't have any family or friends listed. No one knew that he had been in a devastating wreck and just had his entire identity altered from surgeon to patient, indefinitely.

"Yo, Layla. You there?" Ally's voice broke her thoughts. Maybe she would know something about him.

"Yeah. Just thinking about that patient earlier, Steven Strange. Dr. John said he was our top neurosurgeon at the hospital."

"Shit, yeah. I noticed the name as I was entering the admission slip. I worked with him a few times. Total asshole. Cocky as shit. He was having a fling with Christine there for awhile." 

"Like, Christine, Christine? The one that works with us?" Layla was surprised. Christine usually kept to herself most of the time, much like Layla. 

"Yeah, I know right? I would have never guessed that but Ian told me he saw them getting it on one day in the supply cabinet." Allison was leaning over the table like a teenager telling a secret. She forked a few more bites into her mouth. For some reason it irritated Layla that she didn't know about that. 

"Well that's lovely. Glad to see we all use the supply cabinet appropriately. I had better not find any unidentifiable fluids on my favorite pens. The Bics write the best." Layla said, smirking. Well maybe he would have someone who cared that would come visit him. Suddenly she was more tired than she had been in awhile. They wrapped their brunch up and headed out.

"Let me take you home. There's no need to take the train. You don't live that far away." Allison said.

"Nah, that's okay, Ally. I kind of want to take a run. You know how I get." She laughed humorlessly. The pity in Allison's eyes, thank fuck, was fleeting. Allison knew more about her than most people but she didn't know everything. No one did, not even her baby sister. 

"Okay, well I'll see you next shift, although I think you should take more time off than that." She gave Layla a quick, light hug and gave her a meaningful look then got into her car. As she drove away, Layla felt the beginnings of her anxiety start to creep into her. Consume her. She did need a run but that wasn't what she was going to do. She flagged down a taxi and headed home. The sweat beaded on her forehead as she took slow, deep breaths. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth. As the taxi made the long and winding journey to her house outside of city limits, she found herself thinking of that patient again. It wasn't like her to focus so heavily on a patient. She had learned to turn that off years ago if she wanted to sleep at night. It was strange. She smiled slightly. How fitting. The taxi slowed outside of her gate. The farmhouse tall and regal as it was framed with beautiful trees. She paid her fare and climbed out and headed inside as the taxi pulled away. This was her sanctuary. She looked over to the barn and saw her beauties standing nearby. She had a beautiful Arabian named Ayla. She was a soft white with a grey muzzle and strong legs. Her mane was black as was her tail. She had a warm blanket over her as she fed. Her horses were her therapy. Actually recommended by her old therapist. 

Sighing she went inside. The house was warm and bright. Large windows accompanied every room and a vast kitchen donning a brass plated island and countertop. The living rooms (there were two) both had fireplaces and hand carved mantles. There were five bedrooms total. One of which she had made an office. Finally there was a large library on the second floor, her haven. Everything about the home was made for a family. Except there was only her. Setting her keys down, she allowed the tremors to shake her. Her heart was pounding and her vision dimmed. Slowly she laid herself down and let the vertigo pass. She knew if she fought it she would end up falling down or fainting. If she closed her eyes she would hear the screams and gunshots, so she forced her eyes open until it passed. 

She wasn't sure how much time had lapsed but the tremors were gone as was the vertigo. Sliding herself upright, she leaned her back against the island and pulled her knees up to her chest and exhaled deeply. One thing they don't tell you about war is that you never leave. Even when it's over, it's never finished. She served in the Army as a medic since she was 17 (she faked her papers to get in before her 18th birthday) and had done a few tours overseas. She even did a tour with Special Forces. She was strong willed as a teen and needed order. Her parents were out of the picture and her baby sister needed someone to provide for her, so she enlisted. She had no idea at the time that the job wouldn't be a job. It would be a lifestyle. Everything she did was managed from a time and efficiency aspect. Perhaps that's why she enjoyed the ER so much. It was just close enough to hell without having to stay. In some ways it helped her PTSD... in others it made it worse. 

Finally pulling herself onto her feet, she hung her jacket up on the hall tree and headed upstairs. She was in need of a shower and some sleep. Stepping into her bathroom, she shed her clothes and started the water. As much as she tried, she couldn't help looking into the mirror. Her hazel eyes just stared back and then roamed over herself. All the scars that littered her body from various encounters. Most of which were from her military time and some of them from before. The worst of them had slashed across her ribcage, under her breasts. Snapping herself out of it, she focused on her positive features. She had a delicate look to her. Soft mouth and high cheekbones. Her eyebrows arched elegantly over her eyes and she had thick, long lashes. Her hair was a deep chestnut brown and had waves to rival the sea. She usually straightened it before going into work. More habit than anything. And finally her faint freckles that were scattered around her nose. Most girls hated them but she personally thought they made her look cute. She never used concealer or that contour shit you see everywhere. She wasn't particularly tan but she wasn't a ghost either. She was... average. And she was perfectly fine with that. She wasn't a vain woman. She never wore makeup nor did she don heels and go out. She was a plain Jane type. The introverted and quiet. She actually didn't fit the normal Army type. Most women were strong and confident. They were feminine and proud because of it. She usually kept to herself. Never getting tied down or involved with anyone. Hell she had never been kissed before, let alone anything else.

Suddenly she couldn't see herself anymore because the steam had filled the room. Reaching into her medicine cabinet she pulled out her Ambien. Popping two, she hopped into the shower and quickly washed, rinsed and washed again. Such was her ritual. When she was satisfied (and when she could start feel the drowsiness of the medicine) she quickly got out of the shower and dried off. Walking out of her en suite, she went to her closet and grabbed a pair of flannel bottoms and an Army shirt. She didn't have to draw the curtains to her windows because they were already closed from the last time she was home. It was 12:00 and she was beat. Laying down in her California King and bedding down like a damn deer, she relaxed and let her mind go. She dreamed of weightlessness and a pair of very masculine but elegant hands.


End file.
